


A Nice Day to go Spelunking

by IndigoFudge



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Blood and Injury, But He Gets Better, Eddie Kaspbrak Lives, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak is a Mess, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, M/M, Medical, Near Death, POV Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier is a Little Shit, Stan is still dead, The House on 28 Neibolt Street (IT), richie goes back for eddie, richie was not ready to give up on the love of his life, sorry about that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-12
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:14:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26412457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IndigoFudge/pseuds/IndigoFudge
Summary: Richie returns to Neibolt so he can retrieve Eddie's body and give him a proper burial, and finds that Eddie is very much alive.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 56
Kudos: 295





	1. Chapter 1

Eddie wakes up with a gasp, coughing up a mix of blood and sewer water until his throat is raw, turning his head to the side as he chokes. His legs are numb; his chest is numb. He sucks in a painful breath. The air stings his lungs, and that's when the pain hits, burning from the pit of his soul. He grits his teeth - Myra's voice in his head admonishes him; 'Clenching your jaw is bad for your dental health, Eddie-bear.' _Well, fuck her,_ he thinks, taken aback by his sudden anger. _Absolutely fuck her. I'm the one who's dying, I can clench my jaw all I want._

Is he dying? He assumes so. The wound in his chest is likely still there, leaking blood into the sewer water and staining his hands red. If that doesn't kill him, he'll suffocate, starve to death, die of thirst, or be crushed by unstable debris. After all, Neibolt collapsed. He can tell that much. Chunks of stone and rubble have fallen around him, trapping him in a small bubble of free space. 'Free' is about the biggest overstatement of the century, though; there's barely a foot of room on each side. At least the boulders aren't flush against each other and have left gaps for air.

Eddie lifts Richie’s jacket with a trembling hand. Sure enough, his chest is a mess of blood and things he doesn’t want to think about. He presses the jacket back down - _"he's hurt, he's hurt really bad, we gotta- we gotta get him out of here"_ \- and blinks away the dust in his eyes. His Ma would say it's a miracle that none of the rubble landed directly on him when the house collapsed. _Some fucking miracle, Ma_ , Eddie thinks, as every part of his body is on fire with earth-shattering pain. _I'm real grateful for it._

The second he can catch his breath, he calls out “Richie?” His voice is almost laughably weak. _Dying will do that to you, I guess._ He moans, coughing some more, spitting blood down the front of his shirt. Not that it makes a difference. “Richie!”

There is obviously no answer, just the steady dripping of water from somewhere in the sewers.

Eddie is lying on the ground. Rocks press painfully into his head and back, but he can’t move anything except his fingers. His chest throbs, shaking with every inhale. “Richie!” He yells as loud as he can, which isn’t that loud. In order to yell loudly he would need a lungful of breath. In order to get a lungful of breath he would need lungs that have not been injured by a clown-spider from outer space. On the plus side, this time his voice must escape the small area he’s trapped in because he can hear it echo around the cave. “Rich-“ A heavy cough rips from his throat, more blood spilling from his lips. He takes stock of his injuries: clear internal bleeding. Clear broken bones. Clear punctured lung.

 _Either they left me or they’re dead_ , Eddie thinks. _Please have it be the former. I can handle it if they just abandoned me down here, if they 'every-man-for-himself'-ed it._ He wouldn't _like_ it very much - they were his friends, they weren’t supposed to leave him alone in the lair of a space clown. _But if they’re dead…_ He chooses not to think about that, and instead focuses on trying to move his legs.

He can at least feel them a little bit now, but that also means an extra part of his body is hurting. “Come on, you-“ he says aloud, feeling stupid talking to himself but also wanting to hear _something._ “Come on."

Bit by bit, he eases his right foot closer to him, until his knee is bent. All this serves in doing is making him realize that he’s never going to get out of here on his own. Myra's voice comes into his mind again and says 'You're useless without me, Eddie-bear.' Eddie answers her out loud this time: "Fuck you, Myra!" But isn't it true? He couldn't even avoid death. He tried to be brave and in return received a mortal wound. For some reason, he imagines a corny t-shirt that says 'I was brave and all I got was this stupid injury _._ ' _Richie would like that,_ Eddie thinks distantly. That's all he wants right now, to see Richie one last time.

He tries calling out again. “Richie?” His voice wavers - _I’m not weak, I don’t need to cry, I’m okay._ “Anyone? I don’t want to die down here, I don’t want to die alone in the fucking sewer. _Please_.” Obviously he doesn't want to die at all, but... if he has to, he wants it to be with Richie. They'd always been the closest out of all the Losers. Probably because they were both equally annoying. Eddie laughs a little and instantly regrets it when he just ends up coughing more blood. _I tried to live, Richie, I tried so hard._ He has been brave enough in the last 24 hours, thank you. Now he would very much like to get off of this ride. If that means dying, so be it.

There’s a splash in the distance. _Hopefully a boulder falling into the water,_ Eddie thinks, because he doesn't like the thought that It may be still alive. Another cough rumbles in his chest. _I just wish I’d hurry up and die already._ Because honestly, this shit is uncomfortable. He can't breathe. He can't move. Everything either hurts or is numb. And it is so fucking cold, the type of cold that settles deep into his bones and makes his body wrack with shivers.

More noise. Eddie manages to turn himself over onto his side, taking a couple minutes to catch his breath. At least this makes it easier to cough up the blood that clogs his throat and lungs. He squeezes his eyes shut, tears making tracks down his face. “I’m sorry I wasn’t braver,” he whispers, giving in to the sadness and fear and pain. _Giving in to death._ It's scary and it's cold. More than anything, though, it's lonely. “I’m so sorry, Richie.”

The splashes get closer, sounding eerily like someone is walking around. And then, a voice: “I’m coming for you, Eds.” It's a familiar voice. _Richie!_ “I’m getting you out of here.”

Eddie tries to sit up, but it hurts too much. A tremor rolls through him. “R-Richie!” His voice is raw, scratchy. “Richie! You're here!”

“Eds?” Richie says, voice getting comically high. “ _Eddie?_ ” It would be funny if it were not the most glorious thing Eddie had ever heard - someone saying his name, _Richie_ saying his name. He'd all but accepted the fact that no one would say his name or care about him ever again.

It's surprisingly easy to make the sudden switch from being resigned to his death to fighting against it. “Richie, I’m, I’m here,” Eddie gets out, then coughs again. “I’m- _fuck_ \- please hurry, it hurts, I don’t know if I can- if I can…” _Make it,_ he thinks, but doesn’t say it out loud. No use in scaring Richie. He swallows, gulping in air, chest constricting as he feels a panic attack coming on.

“Holy fucking shit, Eddie, you're-! I’m coming!” Richie gets nearer. “Stay with me. Hang _on_ , don’t fucking die, don’t close your eyes, don’t you dare even _think_ about falling asleep. Keep talking so I can find you!”

Eddie tries to keep his eyes open, he really does, but it’s so hard. “I’m over here, Richie,” he slurs. _Gotta stay awake. Gotta keep breathing._ “I can hear you. You’re getting closer.” He can't stop shaking. _So cold, why am I so_ cold, he thinks, even though it's not a mystery why - a decrease in temperature is one of the symptoms of hypovolemic shock.

He blacks out for a second, the crushing pain briefly getting to be too much. When he comes to, Richie is saying “Am I warmer?” It sounds like he’s standing only a few feet away.

“Mhm.” Eddie tries to avoid touching his cheek to the rocks, they're covered in bacteria-ridden slime and sewer gunk and gray water and frankly he does _not_ want to be a part of it. It's bad enough that he has been marinating in this filth for at least a couple hours. He's going to need to shower so many times when he gets out. _If_ , _not when,_ the scared part of his brain reminds him. _Think of the extent of your injuries. You'll probably die before Richie can carry you out. Or he'll see how hurt you are, decide you're not worth it, and leave you here again._

Eddie's thought spiral is interrupted by a flashlight beam shining directly in his face as Richie begins to clear the rubble away. “I’m here, Spaghetti Man, I'm here!” Richie announces in a trembling voice, dropping to his knees and scooping Eddie up into his arms. “Hey, buddy.” Tears swim in his eyes. He brushes damp locks of Eddie's hair out of his face, smooths them back with a hand that lingers on his forehead.

Smiling and revealing blood-streaked teeth, Eddie says “Hey.” His voice is feathery-light, threaded with pain and exhaustion. He doesn't even care about the nickname because at the very least the fact that he's hearing it means he won't have to die alone. Besides, he never really hated the nicknames all that much despite what he would have everyone else believe. Richie is so warm in comparison to the freezing cold sewer water; Eddie presses himself closer. Relief pumps through his bloodstream. _Oh... I want to stay here forever_. 

"Okay, come on, Eds. You're fine, you're okay, you're gonna be _fine_ and _okay._ " As delicately as possible, Richie picks Eddie up, slinging him over his shoulders.

Eddie hits pain levels he didn't think were possible. "Ah- _fuck, shit, fuck-_ holy _shit!_ Jesus- Rich- put me _down-"_ He knows this is the only way to get him out, but _holy fucking shit_ , it hurts so badly, tearing at the wound and making his broken ribs grind against each other. His breathing comes in gurgling wheezes that rumble in his chest. He's hardly able to inhale at all before his ruined lungs force the air out. Or at least that's what it feels like - his head is so muddled with pain that he can't really think.

"I know, I know, I know, _shh,_ I know," Richie says, trying to make his tone comforting. (It works; Eddie feels an inexplicable sense of safety.) "God, Eddie, I know it hurts, and I'm _sorry,_ I'm so sorry. Shh- _shh-_ just hang on, I'm gonna bring you out of here and everything's going to be alright."

"Got a question." Eddie's head lolls. He attempts to make his lips and tongue form a sentence and only half succeeds. "W-why did you come back for me?" The words melt together in his mouth.

“Seemed like a nice day to go spelunking.” Richie wades through the rubble and gray water. "Look, I came back because I couldn't just _leave_ you here, I couldn't- you hate the dark, you hate dirt, and you hate this fucking house. You didn't deserve to have this be your grave. I may be an asshole, but I'm not heartless. I care about you, Eds."

The tenderness with which he says Eddie's name is not lost on Eddie. "Thanks, Rich, I... I care about you too." His teeth are chattering violently. He opens his eyes and catches a blurry glimpse of where they're going. The first well on the way up, the smaller one, has shifted just enough so that it's an even narrower squeeze than before; stony walls scrape against Eddie's back. If the wound weren't numb, he would be screaming in pain. _I guess that's the plus side to losing so much blood._

The second well is a much harder challenge. Richie instructs Eddie to "hold on so fucking tight, tighter than your mom's grip on me when we fucked last night." Eddie complies, grumbling about the joke even though internally he's just happy to be able to hear Richie's voice at all. The rope creaks as Richie climbs up and Eddie tries his best to think about other things, things like maybe kissing Richie. _Where the fuck did that come from?_ he wonders. _Doesn't matter. I'll have time to contemplate my sexuality later, when I'm not almost plummeting to my death._

As soon as Richie makes it over the side at the top, Eddie can breathe again. Metaphorically, at least, because right now his lungs aren't doing too well. He splutters out another bloody cough and wonders how he has any blood left inside his veins. 

"You okay?" Richie sounds genuinely concerned.

It's a stupid question. _Of course_ Eddie isn't okay. How can he be okay if he just coughed up blood? How can he be okay if he got impaled through the chest and had a house collapse on top of him? But he can see through the facade. Richie's just trying to give a sense of normalcy and hope, however false. "Uh-huh," Eddie wheezes. He cracks open his eyes again and sees that Richie's picking his way through the debris at the foundation of the house. "We- almost there?"

Richie climbs up onto the grass. "Yeah, Spagheds." He eases Eddie down onto the ground, lying next to him with an arm under his head.

Eddie looks at the clouds while Richie calls the ambulance, but his vision is so smudged that they all merge together into one big white blob that covers the entire sky. It's kind of beautiful, actually. He smiles. Lying on the soft grass, next to Richie? It's a dream, although the circumstances could be better. Maybe he loves Richie and maybe he doesn't. _Okay, I probably do,_ Eddie concedes. _Is that such a bad thing?_ His Ma inside his head tells him it is dirty and evil and that he is a sick boy, but Eddie takes all of his newly discovered bravery and he goes _you know what, Ma?_ You _are the one who is bad and evil. I'm not going to let a dead woman boss me around and yell at me inside my own mind anymore. Fuck. Off._ And it feels pretty good. Scary, but good. 

Isn't that true of many things? They come with fear and threaten to ruin your life, but in the end more good comes of them than bad. Like fighting the clown, for example - It hurt Eddie badly, It traumatized them all, but... if It had never existed, they never would have met Mike or even Ben or Bev. Without Mike and Ben and Bev they would never have been the Losers. Eddie doesn't know who he'd be if he was never a Loser. 

Richie hangs up the phone. "They'll come soon," he says, shedding his sweatshirt and pressing down on Eddie's wound. "Until then, I need to keep you awake and talking. Can you do that for me, Eddie my love?"

"Yeah." Eddie blushes at the nickname, meeting Richie's gaze and letting out a small breath. Stars swim in front of his eyes. _Shit. I might not make it until the ambulances get here. Even if I do, they'll give me anesthesia and I'll probably need to be put in a medically induced coma, and what if I don't wake up from that? There's a possibility that this could be my last chance to tell Richie everything I need to tell him._

 _I'm going to need to be_ really _brave._

"Richie?"

Richie's brows crease almost imperceptibly. "What's up?"

Eddie coughs again, stomach churning when all that comes out is blood. Mustering up all his courage, he says "So, I've loved you since we were kids. Just needed to tell you now in case, you know." He'd reach out and take Richie's hand if he could but it's taking all his energy just to keep breathing. "I liked when you stayed in the hammock past your time limit. 'Cause then, then I could have an excuse to climb in with you. And I liked when you'd call me Eds and Eddie Spaghetti and every one of those fucking stupid nicknames. They were special 'cause they came from you." His eyelids droop; he closes them completely. 

"Eddie," Richie whispers brokenly. "Eddie, come on. I love you too. I always have. Open your eyes, please. Remember you gotta stay awake? Don't do this to me, don't leave me again, I can't- _Eddie._ Fucking open your eyes, dickhead. It's five in the afternoon, you shouldn't be falling asleep now. Hey. _Hey._ _Look at me._ " He sounds like he's on the verge of tears, and that's the only thing that motivates Eddie to force his eyes open once more.

"I'm so-" _Cold. Tired. Close to dying._ He looks at Richie pleadingly. "Richie. I want to kiss you. And it's okay if you don't want to, I just- thought it'd be worth a try."

Richie doesn't even hesitate. He presses his lips to Eddie's desperately as if he can breathe the life back into him. Eddie's blood gets on Richie's mouth but they keep going, both of them crying at this awful and wonderful kiss that could be a goodbye. It's their first but it won't be their last if either of them can help it.

When Eddie has to pull away to cough, Richie grabs his hand and gently brushes his thumb across Eddie's knuckles. "I love you so fucking much, you need to understand that," he says. "Tell me you understand, Eds. Tell me you know how much I love you."

"Don't worry, Rich," Eddie breathes. A sense of peace floods him. "I know. Love you too. Don't forget, okay? In case I die. Don't- don't forget me. Don't forget _this._ " Sirens ring out.

"I could never." Richie kisses him again, a quick and panicked kiss that Eddie appreciates all the same. 

The ambulance comes to a stop; Eddie is loaded into it and he doesn't fight as they administer anesthesia. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Richie fighting to get in the back. "Let him in," he tries to say, though it comes out as "let'm'n." Fortunately the ambulance techs seem to understand because suddenly Richie is right there, holding Eddie's hand and brushing hair back from his forehead. 

"You _stay_ , okay?" Richie's voice cracks. His eyes are puffy. "If you fucking die _now,_ you better plan on coming back to haunt me or something, 'cause it would not be fair otherwise. Fight it, Eddie, you can do this. Right?"

"Course," Eddie murmurs. He lets himself drift away, all the noise blending into a long droning hum, feeling nothing but calm. _Huh,_ he thinks. _This is the first time in years that I've been calm. This is the first time in years that I haven't been anxious._ And before he slips into unconsciousness, he manages to mumble a quick "Thank you" to Richie. _For not giving up on me when everyone else did, for being a stubborn asshole and refusing to let me go._

_For loving me and allowing me to love you too._

_For coming back to get me._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie is unconscious in the hospital, sleeping off the anesthesia. He dreams about the many times that he's felt love for Richie.
> 
> Meanwhile, Richie makes some phone calls.
> 
> (i use So Many Adverbs And Adjectives in here, i'm so sorry)

_Eddie is eight years old and it's Valentine's Day. Everyone finishes passing around Valentines and even though Eddie's expectations weren't very high, he's still dismayed when no one puts any cards in his basket. He sinks down a little in his seat, kind of wanting to be invisible._

_"What's wrong, Eddie Spaghetti?" Richie asks at lunch._

_"Nothing," says Eddie, staring at the smiling cow on his milk carton and letting his eyes unfocus. After several minutes he concedes: "...No one sent me a Valentine."_

_"Well, that's ridiculous!" Richie exclaims in a truly awful imitation of a Southern accent. "Who wouldn't want to send you a Valentine? You're cute, cute,_ cute _!_ _"_

 _Eddie gives a halfhearted smile. "Ha, ha." He eats a single grape, but then his stomach churns and he can't bring himself to eat another. The lunchroom chatter melts into a long drone._ Gretta Keene got lots of Valentines, _he thinks dully._ With candy taped to them. And I couldn't manage to get a single one.

 _"Sadness begone," says Richie, sliding something across the table. It's a heart cut jaggedly out of red paper. In silver glitter glue is written 'To_ _Eds <3 My Best Friend.' "I made this for you last night. Used my mom's sewing scissors. You are no longer Valentine-less."_

_"Really?" Eddie picks the Valentine up, feeling the urge to cry but managing to suppress it. "Thank you. I feel bad I didn't make you one."_

_Richie waves his hand dismissively. "Your friendship is enough for me, good sir," he says in the Voice of a British nobleman._

_Eddie's chest feels warm._

_•_

_Eddie is fourteen years old and having a birthday party. Well, a makeshift one at least. The Losers are all gathered in the Clubhouse - save for Richie._

_"Where's Richie?" Eddie bounces his knee, checking the ladder for the seventh time in five minutes. "Did he not want to come? Did he get hurt? Oh fuck, guys, what if he's hurt? What if he slipped and hit his head somewhere?"_

_"It's alright, Eddie," Mike says, resting a hand on Eddie's knee. "He's not hurt. I'm sure his mom just wanted to talk to him."_

_Eddie swallows. He checks the ladder again. "Okay." Sunlight filters down through the hatch, there's a small stack of badly-wrapped presents in the corner, and Ben's got one of those party horn things. Definitely no balloons; they've all had enough of those to last a lifetime. It’s not a fancy party by any means._ What if Richie changed his mind? _Eddie thinks._ What if he doesn't care?

_But he doesn't get to mull over that for long because Richie's feet are stepping onto the top rung of the ladder. His legs become visible, then his chest, and finally his head. He's wearing a neon green party hat and holding a thin cardboard box precariously between his cheek and shoulder. "Sorry I'm late!" he calls, hopping down on the floor of the Clubhouse. "I was baking this." With a flourish, he opens the box to reveal a cake. The frosting work is sloppy but it's clear that it says 'Happy B-day Eddie Spaghetti' on it._

_"That looks stupid," Eddie says, holding back giggles. "A_ good _kind of stupid. Thanks, Richie." He sets the cake gently on a stool and gives Richie a tight hug. Although it only lasts a few seconds, Eddie wishes it could go on forever._

_"It doesn't have milk or butter. Or eggs. Or gluten. 'Cause I know you can't have that stuff." Richie's cheeks go pink. "Full disclosure, this is my first time baking a cake ever, and my mom mostly helped."_

_This time, Eddie lets himself laugh. "That's okay. I love it."_

_The cake is delicious. But Eddie's too busy thinking about Richie's smile the whole time to fully enjoy it._

_•_

_Eddie is sixteen years old and he's just snuck out of his house at night for the first time ever. He and Richie made plans to meet by the playground of the old elementary school. Richie's already there when he arrives, sitting on a swing._

_"Hey," Richie says, taking a drag on his cigarette and blowing the smoke into the air. "You want one?" He's wearing a Hawaiian shirt despite the frigid temperatures._

_"Fuck off." Eddie sits on the next swing over. "Jesus, it's freezing. How are you not cold?"_

_"'Cause I got better things to worry about." Richie tries to blow a smoke ring and fails miserably._

_"That doesn't even make sense," says Eddie, swallowing a laugh._ I refuse to give Richie the satisfaction. _"Why'd you want to meet out here, anyways? Normally when you want to talk to me we do it in the Clubhouse or something."_

_Richie looks down at his feet, suddenly subdued. A gust of wind ruffles his wild hair. "I, uh. I wanted to ask you something. Something serious." He takes another puff on his cigarette and waves the smoke away from Eddie. "First I need to know if you're free tomorrow."_

_"Oh, actually, I'm not. Sorry. I have plans with..." Eddie sighs. "I have plans with Annemarie."_

_"You do?" The tips of Richie's ears turn pink; his back stiffens almost unnoticeably. "What are they?"_

_Eddie winces, toeing the wood chips. "She asked me out last night. We're going to see a movie."_

_"That's... that's great, man. Nice catch. She's really hot," says Richie. His voice is scratchy. "But your mom is hotter, and that's who_ I'll _be fucking tomorrow-"_

 _"Hey!" Eddie swats at him. "Fuck you. And I'm_ not _going to have sex tomorrow. It's just a movie. I promise." He softens his words, giving Richie a little nudge._

_Taking a rattling breath, Richie coughs and turns away from the smoke. "Okay," he says quietly._

_They sit in silence for a couple more minutes. Just as Eddie's finally getting used to the cigarette smell, he checks the time. "Shit," he hisses. "I should go. My Ma usually goes to bed around now, and she passes my room on the way there, and if she sees I'm not in bed she'll freak. Bye, Rich." With an awkward wave, he slips away into the shadows._

_That night, he can't sleep, but he never figures out why._

_•_

_Eddie is eighteen years old and Richie is leaving for college. Mike has already said his goodbyes._

_"This fucking sucks," Eddie says, staring at the headlights on his car so he doesn't have to see Richie's face._

_"Yeah." Richie huffs out a sigh. "We can still talk on the phone, though, and I'll write letters, and-"_

_"You know you're just going to forget, right?" The words come out harsher than Eddie meant them to but he makes no effort to fix it. "Just like Bev and Ben and Bill and Stan did. We're not special. So don't pretend."_

_The words hang in the air. After a couple moments, Richie says "I just thought... maybe if I try, and, like... look at a photo of you every day... and call you all the time... maybe I'll remember. Maybe it'll be different with us." He kicks a pebble on the ground; it skitters across the asphalt. "You say we're not special but I kind of feel like you're wrong. I kind of feel like we are special."_

_Eddie braves a glance. As soon as he locks eyes with Richie, they both blush. "I get it," whispers Eddie. From somewhere off in the distance, a bird calls. "You're really gonna try? Promise?" Because he doesn't want Richie to forget him - of course he doesn't._

_"Promise." Richie gives a small smile and steps forward, bringing Eddie into a hug. They stay like that for several minutes until Richie finally pulls away. "See ya around, Eddie Spaghetti."_

_"Don't call me that," Eddie says. "But see you around, Trashmouth."_

_He doesn't watch Richie drive away. It hurts too much._

_•_

_Eddie is thirty-two years old and browsing Netflix comedies. Myra hates stand up comedians, she thinks they're crude and unprofessional, but she's having dinner with friends tonight so Eddie has the TV to himself. He flips through the specials, passively listening to the first ten seconds or so of each preview. And then he comes across a voice that makes him stop short._

_"You ever meet a girl at a bar and she's fucking gorgeous? You get to talking with her, buy her a few drinks, hope she doesn't notice your boner? That happened to me in the airport bar the other night. I was like, 'whoa, this is one hot piece of ass.' You know what I'm saying? Anyways, I chatted her up, and it turned out she had a boyfriend. Big, beefy guy, muscles that looked like he was on steroids, the whole package."_

_The jokes are awful, objectifying stuff. But that's not what Eddie is focused on. He's staring at the guy's face, at the curly dark hair, the glasses, the patterned button-up shirt. A lump rises in Eddie's throat._ I've seen this guy before, I'm sure of it, _he thinks. Even the guy's voice sounds achingly familiar. Eddie checks the title - 'The Trashmouth Tour' - and a wave of nausea rolls through him. It feels like when you walk into a room and forget why you came in, only... fonder, somehow. Sweeter. More nostalgic. He stares at the screen for so long that it times out; as soon as the screensaver appears, the feeling is gone._

_Eddie can't remember what the guy looked like. He tries to look it up on his phone, but finds himself unable to think of the title of the show. Moments pass and the subject drifts from his mind entirely._

_•_

_Eddie is forty years old and bleeding out. His vision is blurred with tears but he can still make out Richie's panicked face. Blood gathers in the back of his throat; he musters a cough and feels it dribble down his chin. He's too weak to wipe it away. The sounds in the cavern muffle together. "Rich," he whispers. "Hey. Richie." With the hand holding the jacket against his chest, he bumps his fingers up against Richie's._

_"Yeah?" Richie leans closer, hanging on to Eddie's every word. "What is it?"_

_"It hurts," says Eddie truthfully. He bites back a sob. Each wet breath has less force than the one before it. "It fucking_ hurts _." Slowly, he shifts his gaze up to the cavern ceiling, letting out a low groan. Because it really does hurt, more than the time he broke his arm, more than getting stabbed in the face, more than any pain he's ever felt in his entire life combined. He looks back down at Richie, and with his eyes he is begging him,_ pleading _him to stay._

 _Richie kisses his hand and Eddie sees the devastation in his expression. "Eds," Richie says, his voice breaking. "Look at me. You can't die on me, alright? Don't you dare_ fucking _die on me. Don't close your eyes, don't... don't fall asleep. You gotta keep_ breathing _. That's how you stay alive - you breathe. Okay, buddy?"_

 _"Mhm." Eddie blinks languidly. "Richie. I-" Cough. "Thank you. For staying. For caring." He feels his chest shudder to a still, and he wants to make it move again - he really does - but it's like there's a block of lead sitting on his ribs. His fingers twitch as he tries to close them around Richie's hand; his lungs burn with the lack of oxygen._ Shit, oh fuck, oh _shit._ No, please no, it can't happen like this. I can't die like this. I can't... oh. I can't breathe. 

_Eddie's thoughts fizzle to a stop and he's dead._

* * *

Richie is forty years old and in the waiting room of a hospital, listening to the phone ring as he waits for Mike to pick up. He picks at the armrest of the chair because he has undiagnosed ADHD and is unable to sit still.

"Hello?"

"Mikey!" Richie sits up straight. "So, um, I went back to Neibolt. You probably noticed that my car's gone. Or not. I don't know." 

"I'm glad you finally left your room, Rich, but I don't think it's very healthy for you to go back to Neibolt. We had to drag you away from there." Mike's tone sounds like he's talking to a toddler.

Richie tries to quell his anger. "That's _exactly_ my _fucking point_. You dragged me away from there, but I should have stayed. We all should have stayed." Sharp tears prick at his eyes. 

"There was no point in us staying. Eddie was dead, and if we stayed we would have died too," Mike says patiently.

"Except he _wasn't!"_ Richie chokes out, digging his fingernails into the palms of his hands; he lowers his voice. "He wasn't _fucking_ dead, Mike. I went back to climb around in the sewers so I could get his _corpse_ and give him a proper burial, only you know what I found instead? A _very fucking alive_ Eddie _,_ almost crushed by the rocks, still bleeding out and one foot in the grave. And guess what, Mikey? Guess what he asked me? He asked me _why I came back._ Because he expected to be left to die down there - which, by the way, was a fair expectation because that's exactly what we fucking did." He's quieter now, but still receives stares from the two other people in the waiting room.

Mike doesn't respond at first, and then he shakily says "Eddie is-"

" _Alive._ " Richie is firm, holding his phone in a death grip near his ear. "He is _alive._ I carried him out and now we're at Eastern Maine Medical Center. I think it would be _great_ if you could drive over here so you can see him when he wakes up from _goddamn surgery._ "

"Oh," Mike says. "I- of course, Richie. That's good! And we'll- we'll talk. You and me."

Richie rolls his eyes so hard that it hurts. _We can talk, but that doesn't mean I'll forgive you. Don't underestimate my ability to hold a grudge._ "Uh-huh. Sure. Bye." He hangs up and dials Bill. 

"Hey, R-Richie, what's up?"

For Bill, Richie doesn't even try to hold in his rage. " _Fuck you,_ Bill! _Fuck! You!_ I'm at the hospital waiting for Eddie to get out of surgery because he's _alive -_ even though you pulled me away, you made me _fucking_ leave him down there!" His cheeks are wet; he doesn't care. "You and Ben both dragged me away when you could have been taking Eddie out. So _fuck. You._ " 

"W- _what_?" Bill stammers. "Eh-Eh-Eddie's alive? And in the _h-h-hospital?_ " 

"Yeah, no thanks to you." Richie angrily swipes at his eyes with a Kleenex. The receptionist is glaring at him.

On the other end, there's a commotion. Ben's voice comes through. "What's the address?"

"849 Stillwater Avenue," says Richie, barely controlling his anger. "I swear to fucking god, if he dies, and it's because he went too long without medical attention - I'm going to kill you." And at this moment, with everything going on, Richie really feels like he _can_ kill a person. He's that mad.

"I know you're upset, but please try to be rational." Bill again.

"Don't fucking _talk_ to me about being 'rational,'" Richie seethes. "Eddie was having a goddamn panic attack the other day and you screamed in his face until he cried. Were you being rational then, Big Bill? You _shoved_ him, you- you made him feel guilty for being scared. Didn't you ever stop once and think about why he was acting like that? You weren't there when we were kids and he'd be in tears talking to me about Neibolt, you weren't there when I'd help him through his panic attacks or calm him down after nightmares about _that_ fucking house and _that_ fucking clown."

Silence. Then, "Jesus... Jesus _fuck_ , Rich, you're r-right, what was I th-th-thinking?" And now Bill sounds broken, he sounds like he's crying. ( _Good_ , thinks Richie, a little bit guiltily.) Bill sniffs. In a small voice, he says "Y-you told us. You t-t-told us he was still alive. You _knew._ "

Richie forces himself to speak more gently. "I knew I didn't want to leave him down there," he says. "I knew Eddie would have hated to be left in such a disgusting shithole." 

"I sh-should have listened," mumbles Bill. " _F-f-fuck._ We... we're ah-all on our w-way. See you th-th-there."

"Yeah, see you there," Richie says glumly. He ends the call, feeling his throat close up and grabbing another tissue in preparation for the tears to come.

Before he can start crying again, though, a nurse calls his name. "Mr. Tozier? Mr. Kaspbrak is out of surgery. You may come visit him now if you’d like."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about that last bit, it's just me taking my own anger out on Ben and Bill because I'll never forgive them for how they treated Eddie.
> 
> I originally had Richie call Bill a selfish asshole, but I removed it because it wasn't in character. Ugh. (It's still true, though.)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happiness is real, and Eddie deserves it.

Richie stands stock still in the doorway of Eddie's hospital room. He's holding the doorknob with white knuckles seeing Eddie in there - small frame dwarfed by pillows and tubes and IV lines. _What if I ran away and flew all the way back to Los Angeles?_ he wonders crazily. Eddie's resting, bandaged chest rising and falling in full breaths. _For once in his life_ , Richie thinks, _he can breathe easily._ The thought brings him some semblance of peace. 

And then Eddie's eyelids flutter and his gaze focuses on Richie. He breaks out into a smile. " _Rich!"_

Richie is inside the room now, his legs having brought him in here of their own accord. He falls to his knees beside the bed, hugging Eddie the best he can. His shoulders shake. " _Eds,"_ he breathes. "Eddie. _Fuck._ Oh, Eds." One hand comes up and cups Eddie's cheek, a thumb swiping over the fresh bandage. It's a mirror of what had happened underneath Neibolt just days before, only this time, Eddie is okay.

"D-Don't call me that, you asshole." Eddie's eyes sparkle with tears. He's bruised and battered and broken, but he can finally rest. Pure relief is evident on his face. He sighs, leaning back against the pillows. "Did you guys kill It? I mean, I think you did, that's what it sounded like, but-"

Brushing Eddie's hair back from his forehead with steady fingers, Richie nods. "Yeah. We killed It for good - bullied It until It got all small and gross, and then we squeezed Its heart into dust. Don't worry, It's not ever coming back." He works through the knots in Eddie's hair and deftly untangles them. "You know I, uh. I went up to It and I ripped Its stupid fucking arm right off Its body. The one It used to- to..." Richie trails off, gesturing towards the white bandages wrapped around Eddie's chest. "Eddie... Eddie, man, I didn't- I didn't want to leave you. I swear, I would have stayed down there and died with you if that's what it took. They wouldn't let me take you out. The place was coming down but I- I wanted you to not be alone." His throat closes up; he fights back a sob.

Eddie blinks. "Richie. I didn't want to be alone either, but if the place was really coming down..." A shadow passes over his face. "They wouldn't let you take me out?"

"No," mumbles Richie, slumping further. "Ben and Bill, they- they just dragged me, and Mike and Bev didn't even try to help. I'm sorry, I really- I really tried to get them to let me bring you, I did."

"Oh." Eddie looks down. His heart sinks in his chest. He's never been one to hold a grudge, but this _hurts._ He would have been willing to lay down his life for these people, if need be - shit, that's what he _did_ \- and they just... left him. They left him _alone._

"I'm sorry," Richie says again, at a loss for words. "I'm-"

Eddie cuts him off. "I'm not mad at you."

They sit in silence, Richie combing through Eddie's hair. Eddie closes his eyes and tries his very hardest not to be mad. It's Ben and Bill, after all - they care about him. If they had known he was alive, they wouldn't have left. And Bev and Mike, while they didn't actively try to carry him out, were devastated over the thought that he was dead. Eddie grips the thin sheet until his hands tremble, focusing all of his energy on remembering that the Losers love him.

"Where are they?" he asks after a few moments. "Are they... are they coming?" He hates how weak his voice still is.

"Of course." Richie's answer is immediate, perhaps a bit guilty for painting everyone else in a bad light. _I may be fucking furious at them all_ , he thinks, _but Eddie doesn't need to be._ "Yeah, I- I called them as soon as I sat down in the waiting room, bud. They'll be here any minute. Everyone... everyone loves you, Eds, I promise. I'm already mad enough at them for the both of us. Don't you worry about that." He gives a half-assed smile.

"Okay," Eddie says, moving over to the best of his ability. He pats the bed. "Come on, dipshit. Get up here."

Richie looks at the bed, and then at Eddie, and then back to the bed. " _Really?_ You're not worried I'll, like- jostle the wires or some shit? Tear the tubes out of you? What if I break the bed?" He touches the railing and makes a creaking noise with his mouth. "Or, or- I'm fucking _filthy,_ Eds, I haven't showered this whole time. I'm covered in sewer germs, and dirt, and _graywater-_ " 

"Then take a shower, dude, I'll still be here when you get back." Eddie's face grows serious. "Hey. Rich. You need to be taking care of yourself. Go to the Townhouse, take a shower, get something to eat, drink some water - I bet you haven't had a glass of actual water in, like, a month - and then when you're all done, _then_ you can come back here. I'm not going anywhere." He leans into Richie's touch. "Maybe the others will come while you're away, that way you don't have to see them."

".....Yeah, I guess so," says Richie, giving Eddie a lingering kiss on the nose before standing up. "Promise you'll be okay here alone?" 

Eddie waves his hand dismissively. "I'll be fine. _Go._ Hopefully when you get back here you'll smell better." He grins.

Richie stretches; his joints pop. "Oh, fuck you." But he's smiling even as he flips the middle finger.

* * *

Mike arrives first, carrying a bouquet of flowers. His hands are shaking so much that he almost drops the vase; he sets it down on the bedside table before that can happen. He'd clearly been crying in the car, and now more tears threaten to spill down his cheeks.

"Hi, Mike," Eddie says tiredly. "I'm okay. It's okay." He moves his right hand so it's sitting palm up, hoping Mike will take the hint and grab it, and fortunately he does.

" _Eddie,"_ he says. "I- I'm so, _so_ sorry, Eddie- I brought you these flowers, it's just a gesture to brighten up your room, I am not trying to- to make up for what I did, because it is unforgivable. I just want you to know how deeply I regret it, regret _everything -_ calling you back here, but also leaving you behind. If I'd known-" Mike presses a fist to his mouth, clenching his jaw and moving his gaze up to the ceiling tiles. 

Eddie waits passively, some part of him scared. He hadn't expected this reaction. He'd expected a _Gee, Eddie, I shouldn't have left you, I'm sorry_ and that's it - not his friend breaking down out of guilt. "It's _okay_ , man, I promise." 

"No," Mike all but cries out. "It's not okay, Eddie, we- _I_ \- left you, you're my friend and I left you. _That_ is the biggest mistake I have ever made, and I am truly, truly sorry." He brushes his thumb over the back of Eddie's knuckles.

"Mike." Eddie snaps the fingers of his left hand. " _Mike._ I forgive you." It hurts his chest and heart, but he realizes that he can find it in himself to forgive - Mike, at least; the jury's still out on everyone else. 

Mike's head falls. "How?" His eyes are filled with horror and sorrow, devastation and shame. 

"Because you're my friend, and I love you, and I care about you," Eddie says steadily, holding his arms open for a hug. Mike leans down into the embrace. "You made the most difficult decision you could make to call us back here, Mikey. I can't imagine how hard this has all been for you. The place... the place was coming down, from what Richie told me, and you thought you'd all die if you stayed. It's like the Trolley Problem."

Understanding dawns on Mike as he pulls away from the hug. He chews on his lip. "I- _sacrificed-_ one person to save the group." 

"Yeah," says Eddie. "You did. There's no way of telling whether you made the right choice because there's no way of _ever_ telling whether _any_ choice is right. But I know that myself, and the others, put full faith in you. Always." He pats Mike's shoulder, and then smiles. 

There's a soft rap on the door. "Eddie?" 

Eddie looks up to see Ben, Bev, and Bill crowded in the doorway. Ben has one hand raised, prepared to knock again. His arm is around the small of Bev's back. Bill stands behind them, his face shadowed over. 

Bev runs to the bed opposite Mike and sinks to her knees. She gently squeezes Eddie's arm. "Eds," she says, tears already creeping into her voice. "Oh my God, Eddie. You're... you're..."

"Alive." Eddie finishes her sentence. "Hi, Bev. Yeah. I'm alive." 

"The thing I don't understand is... _how?_ " asks Ben, standing beside Bev and resting a hand on Eddie's knee. His shoes are untied, shoved hastily onto his feet in the rush to get to the hospital.

Something passes over Bev's face. "No one who dies in Derry ever really dies," she murmurs. "The old woman... when we were getting our artifacts, I went to my apartment, and It was there, pretending to be an old woman, and It told me 'No one who dies here ever really dies.'"

Mike nods slowly. "Nothing lasts forever." He raises his left hand. "Our scars, Eddie. They're gone. Yours should be too."

Eddie checks. To his surprise, it is - the raised white line has disappeared, leaving unmarred skin. 

"Derry's always been special, hasn't it?" Ben looks fond. 

"That's one word for it," says Mike, and warm laughter fills the room. Everyone is smiling just like old times.

Not everyone. Bill is still standing by the door, his hands shoved in his pockets. 

"Bill," Eddie says in a low voice. "Come here."

Bill's cheeks are tearstained, his eyes red. He takes a few steps towards the bed. "Eh-Eddie," he stammers.

"Hey." Eddie's expression softens. "Bill, come on. _Please._ I'm not..." The sentence trails off. _I'm not mad_ is what he intended to say, but he can't really say that with honesty, because he _is_ mad. He's frustrated and heartbroken and confused, and Bill is the easiest target for those emotions right now. So instead he says "I'm not gonna yell at you. Come here."

Carefully, Bill walks to the hospital bed. More tears gather in his eyes. He refuses to make eye contact with Eddie. Several seconds of silence pass, and then he removes his right hand from his pocket, holding out a paper crane. "Here," he says. "T-t-t- _take it._ " His hand trembles in the air until Mike finally slips the crane from his palm, placing it on Eddie's lap.

Eddie turns it over, getting a good look at it from every angle. It's folded from thin origami paper printed with flowers.

"I- I folded it for you," Bill gets out, stuffing his hand back in his pocket. "Origami p-paper cranes symbolize healing in J-Japanese culture. And the paper's got p-p-passionflowers on it, which ah-also mean healing, so it's like... d-double healing. I f-f-figured you could use all the healing you could get." A small, almost tentative smile appears on his face, then quickly disappears. "Listen, Eh-Eddie, I-"

"Don't." Eddie swallows back the lump in his throat. "It's over now. Thank you for the crane, I just... I just... I just don't want to spend more time thinking about it - and about It - than I have to, okay?" He motions Bill to come closer.

Bill does. 

Eddie holds his hand. "The fight was hard for everyone. We all did things we weren't proud of - I froze up when Stan's head was attacking Richie. Yeah, you put your energy towards dragging Richie away when you could have put it towards bringing me out. But going by everything Richie said... things happened really fast after It died. You had to make some snap decisions. It's not my place to say whether they were the right ones or not." He looks at Ben. "Haystack, that goes for you, too."

"I- I'm j-just so _sorry_ ," Bill says, dissolving into a blubbering mess. "I yelled at you, Eh-Eddie, and- you didn't d-d-deserve that, you were right, you were just _s-scared._ W-we all were." 

"Thanks, Big Bill." Eddie puts a hand on his back. "Now Richie should be coming back soon, he went to go get cleaned up at the Townhouse. What do you say we watch one of his old Netflix specials while we wait?" 

They do. Bev gets it ready on the TV, and even though it's laggy and the sound quality is awful, soon they're all cracking up at the bad jokes. Ben has his phone ready and takes notes on all the worst ones to rib Richie about when he gets back. Bev and Mike bring some food up from the hospital cafeteria. Even Bill manages a laugh every now and then. 

Richie finally returns an hour later. He ducks his head, pulling Mike into a gentle hug and whispering in his ear. Then he stands in front of Bill and clenches his fists. "Billiam," he greets, voice strained.

"Hey, R-R-Rich." Bill smiles. It doesn't reach his eyes. "I'm sorry. Really s-sorry. I sh-should have listened to you d-d-down there."

"I... thanks. It's just a lot." Richie's eyes are cast downward; he forces them up to meet Bill's gaze. "He gave _so much_ for us, y'know? And... we owed him more than to just leave him."

Bill sniffs and crumples a tissue into a tight ball. "Y-yeah." He claps Richie on the back, clearing a path to the hospital bed.

To Eddie's surprise, no one waits with bated breath, they just turn back to the TV and resume their lighthearted discussion. It makes his quickened heartbeat slow down a bit as he watches Richie wordlessly climb into the bed. Cuddling close, he smells like generic hotel soap. 

And Eddie feels actual happiness, untainted by fear or the sense that something's wrong - just real, true _joy -_ for the first time in a long, long time.


End file.
